Cake Read online

  It’s work. When is work ever supposed to be fun? I show up at nine, finish at five, and leave the building and all thoughts of work behind. It’s a pretty sweet gig for someone who still doesn’t know what they want to do when they grow up, and it allows me to pay for my exorbitant lifestyle in the city I love, so what is there to complain about?

  Unless work starts to encroach on my personal life, like it has tonight. Chase and several of our other friends are currently enjoying my Rangers tickets, and I’m here, being stood up by a work meeting. I scroll through my phone while I wait, order another scotch, and decide it’s been a while since I’ve tormented little Pop Tart. I search our last texts. Messaging her out of the blue seems desperate. I’ll just shake things up a little with the gift that keeps giving. I open the We-Vibe app and hit Pop Tart’s play list. Usually when I do this shit it gets ignored, but today, after playing my personal favorite, Nine Inch Nails “Closer,” I get a report that she’s hitting a few buttons of her own. Holy fucking shit. Pop Tart finally caved.

  I shift in my seat and adjust my cock, because it’s growing hard just thinking about her using a vibrator I gave her. Knowing Poppy, though, she’s likely had enough of me messing with her and has put the damn thing in the microwave.

  My seven thirty arrives, and I set the phone down, and greet her with a handshake. She’s a hot blonde with tits likely paid for by Daddy. There’s not a single line on her face, and I’m betting those big pouty lips are bursting with filler. Even with all that, I’d still fuck her, but I’m trying this new thing where I don’t sleep with co-workers or business associates. I’ve already filled my quota for this year, and Dad was none too happy about having to pay his former receptionist a severance package when he caught the two of us burning the midnight oil in his office. He has a firm policy on zero office romances. Unfortunately, I had a firm cock whenever I looked at his receptionist. Something had to give.

  The server comes to take our order, and shortly afterward drinks arrive. Ah, alcohol. It may be the only thing keeping me from stabbing myself in the throat after listening to Kimberly drone on about her “awesome” life as a Manhattan socialite.

  I order another whiskey and our food arrives. Kimberly takes that moment to excuse herself to use the ladies’ room. Like a gentleman, I stand when she does, but my eyes are on my phone before she even gets three feet from the table. The app tells me that Poppy has now been operating the vibe manually for fifteen minutes. That little minx.

  Because I’m an asshole, I can’t help but text.

  Me: Miss me?

  It takes a beat for her to respond, which makes me think she’s really into masturbation.

  Poppy: If by "miss you" you mean "hope I never hear from you again," then yes. Yes, I do.

  Me: How are my goodies treating you?

  Poppy: Oh, they make great cat scratchers for Sam, Dean, and Cas.

  Me: It’s not weird at all that you named your pussies after adult men from a TV show.

  Poppy: What do you want, Leo?

  I flick over to the app and toy with it a little. Instead of setting the vibration to music, I set it to the highest speed. It’s pretty quiet from her end for a few minutes but I check my screen constantly. Kimberly returns from the bathroom and gives me an uncertain smile. “Is something wrong with your food?”

  I glance down at my untouched plate. “No, I was waiting for you. Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom. Start without me.”

  I don’t relish the idea of getting up, but hey, I’m already there. My cock is rock hard and begging to be released, and I can’t concentrate on jack-shit right now. Kimberly’s gaze shoots straight toward the bulge in my pants, and ordinarily I’d be all for signaling the waiter for the check and making her come against my hand in the back of an Uber on the way to her place, but I’m tired after a long day, and I don’t feel like sticking it to my client and pissing off Dad.

  I don’t need him riding my ass right now. So, I head to the bathroom, lock myself in the cubicle, and free my junk from the confines of my boxers.

  Because I’m a glutton for punishment, I pull out my phone and dial Poppy’s number as I stroke. She lets it ring. I call again, all the while I’m beating my meat, and when she finally picks up and yells, “What?” into the mouthpiece, I grin.

  “Pop Tart,” I say with a strained voice.

  “What do you want, Leo?”

  “Where are you?” It comes out as more of a groan than a question.

  “I’m in bed,” she says, slightly breathless.

  “Mmm, doing what?”

  There’s a pause, and she clears her throat. “Are you okay? You sound kind of weird.”

  “Oh, I’m good. I’m fucking fantastic,” I groan.

  “Well you sound like a creeper, so I’m going to go.”

  “Wait,” I say, and stroke myself faster.

  “What?”

  I choose the first thing that comes into my head. “The rehearsal dinner. When do we have to be there?”

  Another long pause. “All the information on the wedding—including what time you need to have Chase at the end of the aisle on the big day—is in the packet I sent to your office, and if you happen to have misplaced it already, you can also find everything in the email I sent today. Now quit bothering me. Okay? Bye now.”

  I don’t even bother hanging up the phone, I just groan into the receiver, and the strangest thing is that I could swear she doesn’t actually hang up. She’s eavesdropping. Apparently, that’s not the only thing she’s dropping because there’s a squeak and a bang as she drops the phone, and then a loud exclamation of “fuck” right as I shoot my load into the toilet.

  Chapter Nine

  I love him the way you love a hobo on your stoop

  Leo

  I wake late. So fucking late that all I have time for is to throw on some jeans and a T-shirt, whack on a little aftershave and a pair of shoes, and grab my luggage, wallet, and keys. In five minutes flat, I’m ready. I pull back the front door, but there’s a hobo on my stoop.

  “Brother!” the exclamation of one emo rocker forces me to shake my head.

  “Oh no. Hell no,” I say, as my little brother Jasper engulfs me in a hug. I can only look on in disbelief as he grabs his guitar, and a duffle bag that likely contains all of his worldly possessions. He shoves past me into my apartment.

  “No? I haven’t seen you since I moved back to New York, and all I get is a no?”

  “Fine. When did you move back to New York?”

  “Yesterday.” He shrugs. “I went to a friend’s gig, and then had a sleepover with a blond, green-eyed beauty. You would have loved her.”

  I doubt that. My brother and I have very different tastes in women, though the mention of green eyes has me thinking of Poppy’s enraged jade gaze. “Nice to see your priorities are in order.”

  “So, where are you going?”

  “Vegas.”

  “Sweet. Spot me the dollars for a hotel and I’ll come. The old man can take care of my airfare.”

  “No can do, little brother. It’s a bachelor weekend.”

  “Even fucking better. Who are we unleashing on the ladies of Vegas?”

  “Chase.”

  Jasper makes a face and glances around my apartment.

  “You’re not coming though.”

  “Oh, come on. I can be your wingman?”

  “I don’t need a wingman. I get pussy just fine without it.”

  “Really? Even though you’re kind of old now?”

  “I am not old. I’m in my sexual fucking prime.”

  He makes a show of inspecting my hair. “I see a few greys there.”

  “You’re staying here. I’m not buying you a ticket at the gate, and there isn’t time to organize a seat from the office. Besides, if we did that dear old Dad would know you’re in town, and if I know you, Jas, you want to avoid seeing him as long as possible.” I smirk as he grimaces. “Just try not to fuck up my apartment while I’m gone. And sta
rt looking for a job.”

  “I have a job. I play music.”

  “You look like a fucking bum. Get your shit together.”

  “What, and come and work for you and Dad? No thanks.”

  “You know maybe if you took that position Dad’s been offering you the last eight years, you could afford a place of your own.”

  “And have a mortgage, and monthly car payments? Where’s the fun in that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, you could bring pussy back to your own pad instead of using mine.”

  “Nah, I like yours just fine. So, who’s going on the thing?”

  “Right now, Chase and I, and the other groomsman. You don’t know them.” I wait a beat before telling him the whole truth. “Claire and her bridesmaids, too. Oh, and Poppy.”

  Jasper does a double take. “Pop Tart? Get the fuck out. Is she still?” He gestures to his chest and mock jiggles his boobs.

  “Yeah, she’s still got a great rack.” I grin, thinking about her lush tits and how I’d like to slide my cock between them.

  What the fuck? Where the hell did that come from?

  “Still got that stick up her ass, too.” I say, just to remind myself not to think about fucking her. Fucking that woman, becoming involved with her in any way? I may as well hand my balls over now so she could make a silk purse.

  “I’d still do her.”

  Unease settles in my gut at the thought, but I push it aside. “Come on, Jas. Pop Tart wouldn’t date a guy like you in a million years.”

  “Who said anything about dating? I just wanna bend her over the back of the couch and show her how grown up Jas really is now.”

  I can’t help it. I’m moving before I even know why, and when I smack him upside the head, he glares at me as if I’ve just drowned a kitten in his presence.

  “Dude, what the fuck?”

  “Don’t talk about women that way, jackass.”

  “Women, or Pop Tart, specifically?” He stares at me a beat too long, and a smirk tips the side of his mouth. “You sly fucking dog. You’ve already hit that.”

  “What? Fuck no. you’d probably have to pry open her legs with a crow bar.”

  Jasper grins. With teeth. It’s fucking terrifying. “You wanna bone the Pop Tart.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” I say, checking my wristwatch.

  “What’s Chase gonna say about you sticking it to his ex?”

  “Fuck Chase. He left her, remember? And I’m not now, nor have I ever wanted to stick it to Poppy Porter.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, you’re in luck because it’s not like she’d go for you anyway.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means she’s too smart to screw a man whore like you. Me, on the other hand?”

  “Fifty bucks says I have her naked beneath me before the wedding.”

  Jas laughs. “A hundred says you don’t.”

  “Yeah, like you even have a hundred dollars to lay down.”

  “Oh, I’ll have it. In fact, let’s make this a real wager. If you get Poppy Porter naked and beneath you by the time the wedding is over, I’ll say yes to Dad’s proposal. If you don’t, I get your apartment.”

  “I don’t really see what I gain out of this. How ’bout if I win you give up your axe, work for Dad for one year, and quit using my apartment like a hostel every time you and your Muso bum friends decide to grace New York with your presence. If I lose, I give you my damn apartment.”

  “On second thoughts, I don’t know if I can do it, man. That soul-crushing career powerhouse was always your schtick. I’d go crazy in corporate America.”

  “Are you scared because you know I’m going to win?”

  He makes a pffting sound. “No. I know you have no problems getting pussy, brother. But this is premium A-grade Upper East Side pussy. No way in a million years is she going to give it up to you.”

  “We’ll just see, won’t we?” I offer my hand, and Jasper shakes it. “I gotta go. Don’t mess up my damn apartment while I’m gone. And no fucking parties. I don’t want your skeezy friends here stealing my shit.”

  “I think you mean my apartment,” Jas says.

  “No, I mean mine. And I’m not kidding. You fuck my shit up again and I’ll gut you in your sleep.”

  “Love you too, brother.”

  I grunt and head through the door. Fuck me dead. What did I just get myself into?

  Chapter Ten

  The preppy pussy pack

  Leo

  When I make it to the gate, the airline is getting ready to board passengers. I glance around and find Claire and Chase, but no one else from our party. I greet Chase with a handshake and kiss his soon-to-be wife on the cheek. “Who’s ready for some strippers, huh?”

  Claire points a talon at me. “Leo Nass, I swear to god, if there are strippers this weekend, the wedding is off.”

  “Promise?”

  “Hey, be nice, fuckface,” Chase says, punching my arm.

  I wince as if his manicured, delicate little lady hands have the power to actually hurt. “So where the hell is everyone?”

  “Well, Rachel and Keith couldn’t make it. And Clara and Justin are catching a later flight after work.”

  I nod, biting my tongue to keep from asking after the one woman who drives me nuts, as if speaking her name aloud might summon up the angry demon. It slips out anyway. “And Poppy?”

  “Right here,” comes an all too familiar voice from behind me.

  I turn and give her an appreciative once-over. Pencil skirt, white blouse that strains just enough against her tits, classic black pumps, and her hair pulled back in a low bun that’s far too severe for her delicate features. We’re going to the City of Sin and she’s dressed like a fucking librarian. A hot librarian. Oh yeah, she’s gonna be screaming my name as her hot pussy milks my cock with her orgasm.

  I mentally slap myself in the head. What the fuck?

  “Hey, Pop Tart, wasn’t sure you’d show.”

  She frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Of course she was going to show. It’s Vegas, baby,” Claire says. Poppy waves her hands in the air like she just don’t care. She cares though. I can see from her tight smile that she cares an awful lot.

  “Right, but aren’t you a little too OCD for that? Did you bring hand sanitizer?” I tease. Her grimace gets deeper. “You did, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did. What sane person goes to Vegas without hand sanitizer?”

  “The kind who wants to get dirty.” I lean in before I can stop myself. Poppy’s eyes widen, and she takes a step back. I glance at Chase and Claire and they’re both staring at me in disbelief. Fuck.

  “Well, I have no desire to get dirty with anyone in a filthy hotel, and I’m not sure there’s enough hand sanitizer in the world for the women of Las Vegas after meeting you.”

  Chase chuckles, and it’s my turn to punch him in the arm. I’m not a pussy about it, either. He flinches. “I forgot how entertaining you two are when you get going. This weekend is going to be awesome.”

  “Well, thankfully, I won’t be spending any time with him, so I don’t have to throw myself out the plane window,” Poppy says.

  “I’m not sure your ass would fit.” I cock my head to the side and stare at the ass in question. It’s a nice ass—a little small for my liking, but there’s certainly enough of it to grab a handful of as she bounces up and down on my cock.

  Jesus, fuck. If my goddamn brother had just kept his mouth shut, I wouldn’t be thinking up all the ways to win that bet and get the angry Pop Tart naked.

  “About that,” Claire says. “I cancelled our suite this morning.”

  Poppy pales. “What?”

  “Well, since Rachel and Keith both can’t make it, and Clara and Justin already booked their own room, I just canceled ours. I thought we could bunk with the boys. Leo booked a suite, so we can double,” she says, as if sharing a suite with the bride is any kind of bachelor party. Goddamn it.
I’m going to have to cancel those in-room strippers. “Are you okay, Poppy? You don’t look so good.”

  “I think I just hallucinated.”

  “Oh, she’s not staying with us,” I say to Chase. “Come on, man. When you said yes, I thought we were having a female-free weekend—I mean aside from the ones we’re throwing dollar bills at.”

  Chase rubs the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. He’s obviously chagrinned. “Sorry. The old ball and chain vetoed any guy fun.”

  “And you’re just telling me now?”

  Poppy turns to Claire. “We’re still doing our own thing though, right? I mean, I did get time off work to throw you a bachelorette party, and I’m sure as hell not spending time alone with him.”

  “Like I’d voluntarily spend time with you,” Leo says, “I don’t mind dishing out a good spanking every once in a while, but in no way am I into torture.”

  “You two are so cute,” Claire says with a laugh.

  I glare. Poppy glares, and Chase—that dumb, pussy-whipped fuck—Chase heads for the plane before I can beat his damn head in surrounded by dear old Dad’s staff, and all these lovely passengers.

  ***

  Once we’re seated, I turn to Poppy. I’d intended to sit next to Chase but—yep, you guessed it—Claire vetoed that shit too. Man, if I’d known we were going to be spending this whole weekend with the preppy pussy pack, I’d have stayed in Manhattan and skipped the whole fucking thing.

  Still, there are bonuses to being the son of business magnate and major shareholder of Apollo Air, Leonardo Nass. A six-hour nonstop flight in business class means six hours’ worth of nonstop drinks, and air hostesses who are extra nice to you. Sometimes in tiny bathroom cubicles. What I don’t appreciate are the filthy glares the brunette next to me is giving. To me, to the staff, to my staff when I widen my legs and let my semi poke at the zipper of my trousers. She is so fucking uptight, I have to wonder how Chase ever got into her panties in the first place.